Wild Cards
by otherhawk
Summary: Everyone wants to be famous. Sometimes it's more convenient than other times.


**Disclaimer: Own nothing to do with O11**

**A/N: This might look like a birthday present. And it is. Happy Birthday, mate. You already knew that part. ;) **

**A/N2: Pete Conrad quote is real. Funny guy.  
**

* * *

The parchment was _just _out of his reach still. With a sigh, he twisted round in the harness and looked back up at Rex and Vinny, peering down through the hole in the ceiling from the floor above.

"Couple more inches," he requested mildly, and he shook his head to himself as they had a quick, whispered argument over the proper way to operate the pulley.

They were alright, really. Nice enough and competent enough, but no more than that. This job was a little out of their league, but he'd felt he owed them. He had, after all, walked out on that supermarket job, leaving them staring at a safe they couldn't open. Least he could do was give them the earliest known Deed of Sale in California.

He smiled as the line lowered the last couple of inches and the cover was under his hands. Now, all he had to do was unscrew this and that and then cut this wire and it _should _just_..._

It was when he was lifting the glass free that his phone started ringing.

Above him, Rex groaned. "Christ, not again."

Grinning, he gave them a cheery wave and reached up to his belt and thumbed the speakerphone on.

"Yeah?" he said cheerfully.

"Rusty?" Frank's voice. "You busy?"

He slid the loop round the glass case, keeping it out of the way and reached out for the parchment. Not quite able to reach. "Technically, yes. What's up?"

"You need me to call back?" Frank checked. His voice sounded unusual. Hesitant, almost.

Huh. He leaned forwards until he was completely upside down, his legs twined around the line for balance. "Just in the middle of an action movie cliché. I'll be done in a minute. What's up?"

"I'm in trouble," Frank said, and that was blunt enough. "This..._guy._.. is blackmailing me. I'm in Atlantic City. You think you could get out here?"

Someone was blackmailing Frank? That was...that was something they were going to put a stop to right away. Folding up the parchment, he tucked it inside the pouch on the harness. "Of course," he said reassuringly. "We'll be right there. See you in the Borgata for breakfast?"

"Sure thing," Frank said, and he sounded a little happier. "I'm buying."

Right. He hung up the phone, replaced the cover and pulled the line back up. Rex and Vinny were glaring at him. He smiled charmingly and passed the parchment over to them. "Gotta go. Give this to Hendry. You know where to find him, right?" They nodded. "Mention my name. Actually, tell him I said hi."

"Where should we send your cut?" Vinny yelled as he walked off.

He waved a hand dismissively. He had other things to think about.

* * *

As he was hurrying down the stairs, he was already punching in the number and he started speaking the moment the phone was picked up. "Mrs Peel, we're needed."

There was a pause and when Tess spoke there was a definite giggle in her voice. "Mrs Peel can't come to the phone right now. He's holding up a sofa."

Oh. "Hey, Tess," he said nonchalantly, and then his voice grew serious. "Frank's in trouble. Can you put Danny on?" He hesitated, but he had to ask. "Why is he holding up a sofa?"

"We're measuring the skirting board," Tess explained. "I'm redecorating."

"Again?" he asked involuntarily.

"The wallpaper in the lounge doesn't work," she said in a tone that brooked no arguments.

Rusty would be willing to bet it worked at covering the walls.

"Is Frank okay?" Tess asked quietly.

"Hope so," he said simply.

He could picture her nodding. "Here's Danny."

"What's going on with Frank?" Danny asked at once.

"Not sure yet," Rusty admitted. "Said he was being blackmailed. We're meeting him at the Borgata for breakfast. I'll see you at the airport."

"Fine," Danny agreed. "Why am I Diana Rigg?"

"Got to go," Rusty told him hurriedly, heading for the nearest car.

* * *

There was an ugly-looking bruise on the side of Frank's head. Danny's eyes flickered sideways; Rusty hadn't mentioned that on the phone. The set of Rusty's lips told him that Rusty hadn't known either.

Danny smiled and leaned forwards. "So who is he?" he asked softly.

Frank sighed, looking uncomfortable. "Name's Spencer Rainer. He's a documentary maker. Or a wannabe documentary maker."

"How did you get involved?" Rusty asked intently.

"Was working the inside for O'Dell and Brigstock," Frank started to explain. Danny grimaced and he could feel Rusty's distaste. Yeah. Not their favourite people. "I know," Frank said. "Was just an easy thing though, you know? All I was doing was giving them the count."

"And this Spencer caught you?"

"Yeah." Frank nodded unhappily. "He had some kind of pinhole camera. Got it on tape. When I left, he was waiting at my car. Showed me it all on his laptop, said we should go for a little drive."

"You said no," Danny said, because this was Frank and he always would.

"That's when he hit you?" Rusty checked, mild and dangerous.

"Yeah," Frank said again. "He had some kind of club in his pocket. Just hit me once, think it was about letting me know that he meant business, you know?"

Didn't make it better. Didn't make it even close to acceptable.

"Anyway," Frank went on, glancing uneasily from one to the other. "He pushed me into the car before I knew what was going on. Guy's stronger than he looks. Drove away and started explaining that he'd hidden the tape and he could give it to the cops, easy enough."

Danny frowned. There was something else. He couldn't read Frank like he could read Rusty, but he'd still known him a long time and there was something Frank didn't want them to know.

"What else?" he pressed.

Frank sighed. "You can be really annoying. You know that?"

"Frank – " Rusty said patiently.

" – what else?" Danny finished persistently.

Frank glanced down at his hands. "He started talking, I told him where to go. He got me again, right behind the ear, and while I was still groggy, he shoved my hand against the glove box. Started running his little club over my knuckles. Playing them like a xylophone or something. Said he was 'fully prepared to do whatever he had to in order ensure my cooperation'."

Danny's fists were clenched. "What does he want?" he demanded. "Money?" He doubted it. Money and Frank wouldn't have called them.

Frank snorted. "He wants to be on TV!"

There was silence.

"I know a guy who works on America's Next Top Model," Rusty offered eventually. "How are his legs?"

"I wasn't exactly looking," Frank said, shaking his head. "Nah, he wants to be the next Bob Woodward."

"He's a newspaper man," Danny commented to no one in particular. And this was serious, no matter how it sounded. "Why does he think you can get him on TV?"

"He wants to make a documentary that will get him picked up by a network. Wants to expose the seedy underside of Atlantic City."

Rusty was frowning. "That's _all _of Atlantic City," he pointed out.

"Yeah," Frank shrugged. "But he thinks I can open doors for him. Wants to expose some massive con."

Danny smiled and the ideas were already forming. "Well, let's give him one," he said simply.

* * *

Frank wanted this kept small. They'd call everyone else in when they knew what the plan needed.

"What's the easiest way to get on TV?" Danny asked rhetorically, and he was already giving his own answer. "To already _be_ on TV."

Rusty was already nodding. "Frank gives him a TV program that's already crooked - "

" - he won't be able to resist," Danny agreed. "So what do you think? Fixed game show?"

"That special Atlantic City feel," Rusty said slowly. "Contestant's own money at stake."

They looked at each other for a long moment. "It's gonna need to look good," Rusty said at last.

"It's gonna need to look _very _good," Danny agreed.

_Now _they needed to make a few phone calls.

* * *

Spencer Rainer's life was looking up for about the first time in a decade. He'd served his time in the slow lane. He'd worked his way through college, flipping burgers, and he'd taken every film-making course that he could find since then, earning a paltry wage doing chicken-shit jobs among the morons and the great unwashed, knowing every second of his life that he was made for better things.

He'd taken a few questionable turns along the way. Not that it mattered. All great reporters, well, they had to get their hands dirty. Dirty cops were the ones who got results, and Spencer knew plenty of them.

He'd made films – great films. Films that showed the real action, on the street. But his work was just too dark and too edgy for anyone to understand. "Just cheap titillation," they said. "No real understanding of the world. No _insight._"

He'd show them. This – _this _ - was his big moment. He'd just gone into the casino, following a business girl. He'd hoped that maybe she was meeting someone famous. Never could tell, and the tart had been scrubbed up enough. But he'd lost her somewhere in the crowd, and he'd just been staring at the Blackjack table, and he'd seen the signal. He'd _seen _it. He never got that kind of break. And he'd managed to track the dealer's car down and he'd waited, almost shaking in his shoes, visions of bringing down a circle of professional casino cheats swimming before his eyes.

And he thought this guy, Raymond, was for real. He talked like he knew people. And however much he might object, Spencer _owned _him now. That phone call this morning...he could hear the hate in Raymond's voice, but Raymond had deferred to him. Telling him all about this new con that was going down. The pilot episode of some new gameshow, being filmed right here in Atlantic City. Raymond said he could get Spencer in as a contestant. Right where he'd be able to expose the fraud.

That meant that right now, that tape was one of Spencer's most valuable possessions and he'd practically been rubbing his hands together with glee as he'd hidden it at the bottom of his wardrobe.

Wasn't just some piddling little con, either. Raymond had given him names like they meant something. The host was Richard Wolfe. The producer was Franklin Keller. And maybe he hadn't heard of them – gameshows weren't exactly his area – but he'd done some checking on the internet, and these guys were _huge. _Franklin Keller had a list of credits as long as his arm. And Richard Wolfe, well, seemed like the guy was a legend. Fantastically famous, incredibly eccentric. There were even rumours that he'd started out in a porno, though no matter how he searched, Spencer hadn't been able to track down any copies.

This thing went all the way to the top and he, Spencer Rainer, was going to be the one to expose it

He was going to be famous.

* * *

Rusty gazed over Livingston's shoulder. "You had to put me in a porno?" he complained, taking a bite of candy.

Livingston twisted round and fixed him with a glare. "Is that my last Klondike bar?" he asked.

"...yes," he admitted, maybe just a little guilty. He hadn't actually _meant _to steal it, he'd thought it was Danny's.

"Then yes, I had to put you in a porno," Livingston said simply.

"And the age-old question of 'What would you do for a Klondike bar' is answered at last," Danny remarked cheerfully. "Where are we?"

Rusty leaned against the wall and rubbed at his mouth. "Frank's got Spencer hooked, Livingston's supplied the backgrounds – some a little more colourful than others – and set building is ready whenever you are."

Danny smiled and held up a couple of sheets of paper. The latest design of their gameshow. Honestly, Danny was having as much fun with this as he had with everything else.

Unable to resist, he took the papers and studied them carefully for a few moments. He looked up at Danny slowly. "Really?"

"Yeah," Danny agreed.

He shrugged and the smile was immediate and unavoidable. "Well, I'd watch it." He frowned for a second, grabbed Danny's pen, and started making a couple of alterations. "You want the wheel you're gonna need some kind of distraction. And the second round of questions needs something else." He looked up again, shaking his head, smiling. "You think – "

" – oh, yeah," Danny grinned. "You get to tell Basher."

Livingston was watching them with an expression of misgiving. "I think this is one TV show I'd rather watch at home."

* * *

Spencer resisted the urge to rub his hands together gleefully. This was the day it all started to come together. Raymond was taking him to meet George Tanner, the creative mind behind Wild Cards. This was Raymond's guy on the inside. The guy who objected to the con, the guy who wanted it all taken down.

Somewhere, at the back of his mind, he supposed he'd been expecting the man to be, well, young. A young, energetic, industry dynamo. He wasn't. Actually, for TV land, he was extremely old and he just had this air of experience, of having seen it all. Spencer found himself fighting the impulse towards automatic respect.

"Mr. Tanner," he said, inclining his head.

He found himself being studied by a piercing gaze, feeling like a bug under a microscope. "Mr Rainer," Tanner said. "So, you want to put an end to the monstrosity they've made of my vision, do you?"

"It's a matter of public service," he said, his voice clear and steady and proud. God, he was good.

Tanner nodded slowly, approvingly. "That it is. I can get you through the audition round and into the show," He snorted bitterly. "Those clowns still listen to me _that _much, at least. "Do you understand how the show works?"

He did, kind of. Raymond had explained the basics. "The more you put in, the more they pay out, right?" he asked. "So people put their own money in expecting to win lots."

"Right," Tanner agreed. "They don't bother putting the fix in for the piddling amounts. The pocket change of the hoi polloi isn't what they're after. They're only interested in the real players."

"Like me," he nodded. He'd thought about it, and to get in on this thing he was going to put in a cool ten thousand.

"Exactly." Tanner nodded sharply. "They're not going to cheat for less than a hundred k."

A hundred...a _hundred thousand dollars. _He couldn't get in on this. He couldn't raise that kind of money...not unless he sold his car, got a second mortgage, sold his fucking _kidney. _

"Right," he said, smiling with difficulty.

"I'm glad you understand what you need to do," Tanner said, passing him over a folded piece of paper. "Remember, to expose them you must _win. _This is the final question and answer. It's supposed to be impossible; there are only about three people in the country capable of correctly identifying that mathematical formula."

"Right," he said again, and his mouth was dry.

Tanner glanced at him. "I'll give you the rest of the questions nearer the time. In the meantime, the auditions are the day after tomorrow. Here is an invitation. If anyone asks, you picked it up in Caesars. And you've never seen me before in my life. Got that?"

He nodded slowly and watched as Tanner abruptly got to his feet and left.

Raymond had been standing sullenly behind him for the whole meet. Now he cleared his throat. "So we're done now, you and me. I got you your introduction."

He smiled, suddenly feeling better. "Oh, we're not done Raymondo. Not by a long way. I've still got that tape, remember? You work for me now."

"I don't work for anyone," Raymond spat.

This was the sort of moment he relished. "You either work for me, or you work for the Federal license plate factory," he said, and he watched the dark look on Raymond's face. Oh, he loved being the tough guy. "You and me are going to be together for a long time."

He could see the consideration on Raymond's face and he _really _didn't want the guy getting any ideas.

"Besides," he added hastily, and his hand was automatically heading towards his pocket and the little billyclub he always kept there. "You're not the only guy on my unofficial payroll. You quit on me now, I'd be very concerned about your future health, if you understand what I'm saying. I'd certainly stay away from any dark alleys. The crime rate in this city is really skyrocketing."

It wasn't an empty threat, and he was relieved to see that Raymond seemed to know that.

He needed Raymond. Because he just didn't think that he was going to risk a hundred thousand dollars on this thing. And that meant he needed his next big break.

* * *

Danny was watching Basher and Rusty lay the set with a kind of abstracted fascination. He had offered to help – he _had _honestly – but the moment he'd even picked up the hammer he'd been sent to the other side of the room and told not to touch _anything._

There was a noise behind him. A lot of noise, and he turned to see Linus, Yen and the Malloy's traipse in. Yen was swearing, Linus was glaring and the twins were arguing. All seemed pretty normal.

"All the invitations given out?" he checked.

"Yeah," Linus agreed. "I've been over every inch of this city, feels like. And my feet hurt."

Yen said something scornful and accusing.

"Oh, I _said _I was sorry," Linus muttered.

"Turk only gave his invitations to hot girls," Virgil announced. "So there might be too many girls there."

"There can't be too many girls," Turk snapped back. "Spencer is a guy, right? So if there's lots of girls he's more likely to stay. It's basic psychology."

Virgil glared. "It's just you – "

" – oh, yeah, so Mr Henpecked would never even dream of – "

" – no, actually!"

Danny cleared his throat and the noise stopped. "So we're set?"

"I've been thinking," Virgil said, suddenly sounding serious. "I mean, I get that it's just us for the auditions, and that's fine, but won't he be expecting a full camera crew for the actual show? I mean, he does work in TV, kind of. He can probably tell the difference."

"Taken care of," Danny answered promptly. "We'll have a professional camera crew on Saturday."

Yen stared at him enquiringly and said something short, pithy and disbelieving.

Danny shrugged. "Rusty called a guy."

There was a moment and they stared at Rusty. He didn't look up. "I live in LA and make friends easily," he called back, passing a couple of wires to Basher. "Is anyone really surprised?"

By the looks of things, no, no one was.

Linus was reading through the sheets of questions and frowning uneasily. "Danny, you sure these will work? I mean, they might be a little difficult. 'What were the first words that the second man on the moon spoke?' Who's going to know that?"

"'Beautiful, beautiful. Magnificent desolation'," Rusty answered promptly. "Buzz Aldrin. _Third _man was Pete Conrad and he said 'Man, that may have been a small one for Neil but it's a long one for me.'"

There was brief silence. "Mate, we're ever in a pub quiz, you're on my team," Basher commented.

* * *

Spencer had looked into it. Of course he'd had to look into it. All the ways he could possibly raise that kind of money. Even selling his car _and _his house he'd be struggling.

Still, it remained tempting. The opportunity of a lifetime, and if it all went according to plan...

No. No, call him a coward but he just couldn't risk it.

And yet he'd had to have a look. Raymond had mentioned that Tanner was meeting Franklin Keller and Richard Wolfe in Casers for breakfast. He'd _had _to have a look.

Hiding behind a paper, he'd been totally inconspicuous and he'd watched as Tanner sat and glowered as Keller and Wolfe talked. He'd been able to hear some of the conversation. All about audience reactions and profit margins. They'd been exactly what he was expecting. Keller; dark and arrogant and superior, checking his Blackberry every time someone else was speaking; and Wolfe; flamboyant, self-obsessed and stupid, constantly twirling his long blond hair through his fingers.

God, he wished he could be the one to bring them down. He hated that type. He just _knew _that they'd never had to struggle in their lives. Some people just got all the breaks, it was always who you know, not what you can do.

But he really didn't have the money. He was going to have to walk away from this one.

It was when he was leaving Caesars that the cop came up to him.

"Mr Rainer," he said respectfully, showing his badge. "I'm Lieutenant Garret of the Fraud Squad. I was wondering if you might have a few moments to discuss a matter of mutual interest."

* * *

"You sure he's going to bite?" Reuben asked, as they sat shuffling through a deck of cards and a stack of questions.

Rusty shrugged. Yeah, they were pretty sure. Just had to wait for him to make his mind up.

"A hundred thousand is a lot of money," Reuben persisted. "We're talking about wiping the guy out."

By the time the others had got there the lump on Frank's head had all but gone. And Frank hadn't exactly been forthcoming with the whys and the whats. Rusty sighed and looked Reuben straight in the eyes. "Night Spencer got Frank, he hurt him," he told Reuben very, very quietly. "Just to make sure the conversation happened. Frank's not the first - "

" - but he's going to be the last," Reuben said, nodding and now Rusty thought that Reuben was maybe wondering whether they were going far enough. "Got it." He frowned suddenly. "Rusty, there's five Aces in this deck."

"Huh." He grinned. "Oh, that must be left over from last night. Had to win another Klondike bar off Livingston."

"One of these days, you're going to have to admit you have a problem," Reuben said, wagging his finger.

Rusty frowned. "With chocolate or with cheating?"

He wasn't so sure that either was a problem. By the looks of things, neither was Reuben.

* * *

The cop was serious-looking and probably a little older than he seemed at first glance, and the livid scar across his left cheek only added the gravitas. He'd taken Spencer into a cramped office deep in police headquarters and Spencer had glanced at the name on the door and secretly he'd been impressed. All his previous associates on the force had had a desk in the bullpen at the very most. This guy was high up.

"Mr Rainer, I believe you have an interest in this new gameshow, 'Wild Cards'" He said the name with distaste.

Spencer blinked. "How do you know that?"

Garret grinned humourlessly. "It's my business to know that. You know, of course, that the thing is a massive fraud."

"Yes," Spencer nodded, eager to show off his knowledge. He needed this guy to take him seriously if he was going to use him. "These two clowns, Keller and Wolfe – "

" – don't exist," Garret interrupted.

Spencer stared.

"Tell me, Mr Rainer," Garret went on. "Have you ever heard the name Danny Ocean?"

He hadn't. He didn't want to admit it though. "Uh, it rings a bell," he temporised.

"Danny Ocean is probably the world's greatest con artist," Garret told him seriously. "A legend among criminals. Did you ever hear of the theft of a hundred million dollars from the Bellagio a few years back?"

That really did ring a bell. His mouth was dry. This was _huge._ "That was _him?" _

"Oh, yes," Garret nodded. "Now, tell me, do you recognise this man?" He pulled out a thick folder with 'Daniel Ocean' written on it in thick marker and Spencer thought he'd probably give his right arm to see everything that was inside. He flipped it open to the first page and Spencer stared at the photo.

He recognised that man. Breakfast that morning. He'd been sitting twenty feet away from the world's greatest con artist. Suddenly he felt a little faint. "This is _his_ job?"

"Yes." Garrett leaned forwards and looked at him sincereHis mouthly. "And with your help, we're going to get him this time."

He licked his lips. "What's in it for me?"

Garrett smiled. "You get the story. Full inside scoop. Story of the century."

Oh, he was in. He didn't care what it took. He'd sell his home, his car, his _grandmother _if he had to. He'd borrow money from anyone who would listen. He wanted this story. He wanted to see this Danny Ocean brought down.

* * *

There were a lot of people out there. More than Danny had honestly been expecting.

"Everyone wants to be on TV," Rusty commented, from just behind him.

Danny thought for a moment. "_I _don't."

"Well, just make sure to stay on the right side of the cameras," Rusty advised with a grin.

"You just make sure to keep your toupee on," he answered quickly. And he was just a little bit serious. Last thing he wanted was a Rusty who looked like Rusty on TV.

"Extensions," Rusty corrected patiently. "They're extensions."

"Uh huh." Danny nodded. "You look like Iggy Pop."

Rusty looked offended. "I look good." He started flipping his extensions round his finger and Danny struggled not to laugh. "Bet I get asked for more autographs than you."

Danny raised an eyebrow. "You do remember that you're not really famous, right?"

"I still say that one of you should've been a girl," Turk muttered.

They both turned round and stared at him. "Not getting many volunteers," Danny said mildly.

"You could wear a wig," Rusty suggested cheerfully.

"I'm not the one wearing sparkly earrings," Danny pointed out. He looked a little closer. "Tell me those aren't real."

"I've seen those reality shows," Turk persisted. "There's always at least one woman on the panel. Usually she's nice looking."

Rusty shrugged. "'s a pilot. We're still perfecting the format."

"Spencer's out front," Frank announced, walking into the room. "He asked me to make sure that Saul was expecting them."

Danny grinned. "Okay then. Let's go."

* * *

Even though Spencer knew he was already through the auditions – it really was who you knew, after all – he still felt unaccountably nervous as he followed the queue through to the main studio floor.

There was a table up the far end of the hall and if he squinted he could just recognise Tanner and Keller talking to each other with apparent distaste. There was no sign of Wolfe.

He looked away quickly. He mustn't let them know he was onto him. He had to stick to the names they'd given him. Lieutenant Garret had been very clear on that. He'd given him a new camera; one that would record everything and told him that he was on his own, right up until he won. He'd _force _them to admit there was no money, right on live TV.

He'd done some checking. Quiet checking, of course, he really didn't want to draw any attention. But Danny Ocean was a name that checked out. A legend among criminals all right. He'd even heard a couple of stories. Exaggerated as hell, of course, all clearly impossible, but it was clear that the man himself existed. And Spencer knew exactly where he was.

He stared as Richard Wolfe sauntered in, and he felt his lip curl. Oh, that was overdone. Blond hair artfully dishevelled, jeans that were clearly too tight, large dark glasses and a t-shirt that proclaimed 'Keyser Soze stole my coffee'. Honestly. What was that even supposed to _mean? _

And yet the women in front of him were giggling and whispering and nudging each other.

Somehow, he felt kind of jealous.

* * *

All these people really wanted to be on television. Rusty had to admit, he felt sort of bad about disappointing them.

They'd agreed that the set up for the auditions should be simple enough, and it was.

Danny stood in front of the assembled horde, all chattering and preoccupied and excited, and he stood up straight and smiled and commanded their complete and unfailing attention in an effortless second. Rusty's smile was carefully hidden behind an expression of vapid boredom. He'd never get tired of watching that. Danny was the ultimate Pied Piper. If they wanted to, he could lead an army.

He didn't listen to the speech too much. He'd heard it before, after all. They were looking for enthusiasm and commitment, people who stood out, people who were remarkable and, of course, they were all here to have fun. Instead he was watching Spencer. Who was carefully not watching anyone. Guy was nervous. More nervous than he'd been expecting. Interesting.

Danny split their hopefuls up into groups and told them to come up with an idea for a gameshow all of their own and pitch it.

That took a good couple of hours. And most of the ideas were pretty terrible, and they sent Yen and Turk and Virgil out to give stickers to anyone they wanted to take through to the next round.

Fifty hopeful people. Fifty mostly random hopeful people. Spencer was among them, of course, still looking nervous. Honestly, if this wasn't a fix, Rusty doubted he would have been picked.

He leaned back in his seat, sipping something that looked fruity and alcoholic, and joined with Danny and Saul in throwing unexpected questions at their hopefuls.

"What's your favourite dinosaur and why?"

"How many uses can you think of for a space hopper?"

"What's the worst thing you've ever done on a bus?"

"Do you believe in luck?"

"Would you rather lick a penguin or stand on a pin?"

"What _would _you do for a Klondike bar?"

By the end of it, the hopefuls were looking a little confused, a lot befuddled and slightly shellshocked. Huh. Kind of reminded him of Linus.

"Okay then," Danny said at the end, standing and smiling and making it absolutely clear that everything was over. "You want to leave your details and your contestant number with the men at the door, we'll be in touch."

Spencer was staring at them like he was wondering what was really going on.

Rusty was asked to sign seven autographs on the way out. The smirk was just for Danny.

* * *

God, that had been awful. Spencer was well and truly in a bad mood. It had been all his 'fellow contestants'. They made him sick. All that ridiculous ambition; wanting to be on TV for the sake of being on TV, but not even _considering _working for it. He was the one who'd put in the time. He was the one who deserved the glory. And yeah, he was going to get it, but all that cloying desperation and false enthusiasm from all those pathetic nobodies whose lives would never extend further than the confines of their own living room and the joys of watching 'Jerry Springer'...he honestly didn't blame Ocean for wanting to rip off people like that. Hell, he wanted to himself. Just five minutes pretending to be one of them, pretending to be a stupid, pointless nobody was enough to make him feel like screaming.

He took it out on Raymond. Why not? Stupid bastard didn't have a clue what was going to happen. He almost wanted to tell him that this was so much bigger than his puny mind could imagine. Almost wanted to tell him that he was going to have a – very, very small – part in bringing down the world's greatest conman.

"Well?" he demanded, as Raymond sat on the barstool next to him.

Raymond actually ignored him for a moment as he ordered a beer, and Spencer sat there fuming. "I spoke with Mr Tanner," Raymond said at last. "They'll call you tonight. They're going to ask you how much money you're putting in as well."

"Good, good." He was laughing now, in spite of everything.

Raymond looked at him curiously. "You actually going to be able to raise the sort of money that Mr Tanner was talking about?"

He looked at Raymond scornfully, his lip curled in disgust. "It might be difficult for you to imagine, boy, but some of us have enough to rub two coins together."

It was obvious that Raymond wanted to react to his tone and words. And for a moment he really thought that the man might swing for him.

"Uh uh, remember the tape," he warned quickly. "You don't want to go to the cooler now, do you? Boy?"

Raymond slumped back down sullenly. "No," he said shortly.

"That's right." He was smiling and this was enough to put him in a better mood already. "Now, how are you going to get me the questions?"

* * *

Frank was standing motionless, staring out of the window when Danny walked into the room. And immediately, he was a little worried.

"You okay?" he asked casually.

"I should've just broken his jaw." Frank said heavily.

Oh. "Spencer's?" he checked, like there was any other possibility, like there were any number of jaws that Frank might be planning on breaking at any given moment.

"Yeah." Frank didn't sound like he'd be seeing the funny side any time soon. "You should've heard him this evening. Making me jump through all these hoops. I tell you – "

" - he has the tape," Danny cut in, because this was important and he didn't want Frank to go to jail. "He'll press charges, unless we deal with him."

Frank sighed and Danny wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. "He's taken the bait. He's talking like he'll raise the money somehow."

"Yeah." Danny nodded, unsurprised. "Reuben's been checking around. He's been borrowing heavily. Going to be in debt for a long time. And after Saturday, no one's going to give him the sort of break he wants." After Saturday, no one was going to give him anything.

"Thanks, Danny," Frank said, and the smile was faint but there.

He shook his head and smiled and it was a definite sort of 'don't mention it.'

It was what they did.

* * *

The day of the show and Spencer was standing outside the 'Wild Cards' studios trying to pull himself together. He could do this. He was a serious undercover reporter now. He could do this.

He had to admit, the whole thing was much more _professional _looking than he'd vaguely been imagining. Enough to make him wonder, with a brief stab of horror, if Lieutenant Garrett was somehow wrong about this whole thing. If, maybe, it was on the level. But no. He had suggested that Ocean had probably got some genuine investment from putzes willing to risk their money on that kind of thing.

He'd got the questions and answers from Raymond. Learned them off by heart, least he hoped he had. He could do this.

Lieutenant Garrett was waiting for him, wearing dark glasses and a hat pulled low over his face. Spencer felt a flutter of excitement in the pit of his stomach. "Lieutenant Garrett," he greeted, in a low voice.

"Quiet, you fool," Garrett hissed. "No names. Not here. You want to blow this whole thing?"

No, of course not...he hadn't _thought. _"Sorry," he said, wrongfooted at once.

"Right." Garrett sighed, looking over him. "I hope I'm making the right choice here. We're putting a lot of faith in you."

His mouth was tight. "I can do this," he snapped.

"Let's hope so." Garrett shook his head. "You understand what you have to do? You have to get right through to the final. We need to get that last question answered. Then me and the boys will stop the show, we'll examine their set-up and that'll be that for Ocean. Okay?"

He nodded. They'd been through this before. He really did understand. He really could do this.

Garrett frowned at him. "You did get the money alright?" he asked, his finger tracing heavily over his scar, almost like some nervous tic.

"A hundred k," he said nonchalantly, like it was nothing. Just pocket change.

"Good." Garrett smiled at him. "Look, sorry I was a little hard on you before. This is a big day for all of us." He patted Spencer on the shoulder, before absently smoothing down his jacket. "Good luck."

"I won't need it," Spencer declared, turning to face the studio entrance. He could see the two men waiting for the contestants standing and arguing with each other. Not that that mattered. It was show time.

* * *

There were people out there he'd never met holding up signs asking him to marry them. Or, rather, asking Richard Wolfe to marry them. Either way it was just ever so slightly disturbing.

He gave Livingston a long look. "It was one Klondike bar!" he hissed.

Livingston looked slightly amused and slightly terrified. "I didn't do this."

Oh. Rusty looked at Danny who was grinning like he was right in the middle of the best joke ever. Mind you, Danny _normally _looked like he was right in the middle of the best joke ever. Just that Rusty preferred it when it wasn't at his expense.

"Not me, Iggy," Danny said cheerfully. "I think they're for real. You've got a fanclub."

Right. Well. _That _wasn't part of the plan. He turned his back on Danny pointedly and scanned the studio. Crowded. Reuben, Yen and the twins had done a good job on publicity; they had a complete studio audience surrounding the set. And it was all looking realistic. Even Charlie, the head of the camera crew, had agreed.

He caught Charlie's eye and Charlie gave him the thumbs up. Well, they were fine from a technical point of view. Speaking of which...

"Basher?" he checked, talking into his head set softly.

"All set," Basher answered promptly and just a little surprisingly.

"Turk?" he asked.

Turk sounded annoyed. "Contestants are all here and antsy. Spencer's about two minutes short of asking for a bowl of M&Ms with all the blue ones taken out."

"The blue ones taste different," Rusty told him. "Linus?"

"In position," Linus said immediately.

All good then. He glanced back at Danny. "We're ready."

Danny just smiled at him. "Show time."

Right. He threw his extensions back and bounced out onto the main stage.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he began exuberantly. "Welcome to the very first episode of Wild Cards, the show where you have to risk it all to win it all!"

The applause took him by surprise. He resisted the urge to glare back at Danny. Really, he wasn't made for the spotlight.

* * *

Spencer had watched Richard Wolfe carvorting around the stage like a demented puppy on speed and he'd watched the audience of nobodies lap it up. The man clearly loved every second of it. The ultimate show off.

He listened to the spiel, and then there was a break and then he and the other contestants were all led in and he spotted Lieutenant Garrett sitting in the audience, on the edge of the third row, and then he was standing behind a gaudy podium, decorated with hearts and spades and clubs and diamonds, an outlandishly sized roulette wheel on the floor in front of him and the other contestants, and he watched Richard Wolfe's knowing smile as he asked them to state their names and the amount of their own money they were wagering.

They'd left him till last. The head honcho, the main draw. He paused before he spoke, enjoying every second of it. He couldn't see him anymore but he imagined Lieutenant Garrett watching him from the audience, marvelling at how well he kept his cool.

"Spencer Rainer. One hundred thousand dollars."

He revelled in the gasps and the applause.

* * *

"How are we doing?" Danny asked Livingston.

"I'm getting the feed through fine," Livingston told him absently. "Just going to need to convert it, then I can alter it, recompress it and no one will be able to see the alteration."

Right. He nodded like he understood what Livingston was telling him and phoned Linus. He should be nearly at Spencer's place by now. "You there yet?"

"Be there sooner if I wasn't talking to you," Linus told him immediately. "Don't worry, I'll find the tape."

Danny grinned. "Who's worried?"

Everything was going just fine.

* * *

There was something kind of fun about this, Rusty had to admit. He stood in front of the latest contestant – Rebecca, eighteen, engineering student - grinning happily. "Now, Rebecca, pick a card!" He fanned the deck in his hands out, and behind him, the cards were shown on the big screen.

Smiling and chewing on her lip, Rebecca reached out and touched a card.

"The eight of diamonds," Rusty announced to the world. "Now, how much would you like to bet on this question, Rebecca?"

"A hundred dollars, please, Richard," she said shyly.

"A hundred dollars!" Rusty repeated. "Thank you, Rebecca."

Behind him, Rebecca's money was pushed onto the eight on the huge roulette wheel.

"Now," Rusty smiled and the eight of diamonds was flipped over. "Your question...What is the capital of Greenland?"

Rebecca's mouth moved silently for a second then she blurted out "Nuuk!"

"Correct!" Rusty said, loud and delighted, and the audience cheered. "Congratulations, Rebecca, you just won one thousand dollars!"

For a moment, he thought she was going to hug him. "_Thank you, _Richard_," _she squealed.

He turned round quickly, his arms sweeping to cover the contestants and the audience. "Now, are we all ready for the next round of bets?"

The next contestant – Simon, thirty eight, plumber – got his question wrong.

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head, "The correct answer was Madrigals. Now, it's time to spin the wheel!"

The audience cheered. He had a feeling they'd cheer anything.

With due silence, the roulette wheel was spun, the ball bounced, bounced again and landed on sixteen. A second later, number sixteen exploded with a pleasing plume of smoke and confetti. Rusty grinned to himself; thank you, Basher.

"Simon had his money on sixteen. Now he's out of money, out of luck and out of the game," he announced, strolling to the roulette wheel and picking up a handful of tattered, blackened notes. "Stick with us now."

* * *

The questions were getting harder and the contestants were getting fewer.

If Spencer hadn't memorised the questions, he'd be out by now for certain. More money meant harder questions and his were practically impossible.

And that meant that he was taking a certain pleasure in watching Richard Wolfe's face as he answered each and every one.

"What is the common name for the seeds of the flower tree Dipteryx odorata?" Wolfe asked him, for five hundred thousand dollars.

"The tonka bean," he answered with confidence, and if he wasn't cheating he'd _never _have known that.

Everything was going according to plan. He could do this.

* * *

Danny's phone rang, just as he was watching the last innocent contestant get eliminated. Only Spencer left.

"Hey, Linus," he said as he answered.

"It's me," Linus told him absolutely unnecessarily. "I've got the tape."

"Good," he said, relieved. He very much doubted that Spencer was going to be in a position to try anything after tonight, but they needed to be absolutely _sure _he had nothing on Frank.

"Danny, we're on the last question!" Livingston called over urgently.

"See you in the Borgata," he said to Linus quickly and hung up.

* * *

The last question. The million dollar question. The question that would give him the story of a lifetime. And Spencer wasn't even trying to hide his confidence or his scorn.

He already knew he'd won.

* * *

As Richard Wolfe, Rusty turned and addressed the audience and the cameras. "And now," he said, lowering his voice dramatically. "This is the last question of the night. Already we've seen seventy nine thousand dollars go up in smoke. Four contestants have folded. Will Spencer be the fifth?"

He spun on his heel and faced Spencer. "Spencer Rainer," he said, and his voice was echoing in the silent studio. "For a million dollars, please identify this equation!"

The screen flickered up with a series of incomprehensible numbers and letters.

* * *

The equation. The so-called impossible equation. He barely glanced at it before he hit the buzzer. "The Meiner-Lowenbaum Test," he said triumphantly.

Wolfe had turned away, his finger to his ear and he was addressing the cameramen. "Stop, stop the show. Sorry folks, it's the wrong question...wait, _what _did you say?" The shock on his face seemed genuine.

The numbers on the screen vanished and were replaced by a different set.

"_That's_ the Meiner-Lowenbaum Test," Wolfe said slowly, watching him through narrowed eyes. "So how did you know that before it was on the screen?"

The audience was muttering angrily. He could hear voices.

"Cheater!"

"He knows the questions!"

"He's cheating!"

"The game is a fix!" he called out stridently, and he was still wearing the microphone and his words were picked up and echoed round the studio. "It's all a con," he explained desperately. "They're conmen. I'm a journalist, I'm here with the police."

He looked round, searching for Lieutenant Garrett.

There was no sign of him. The seat was empty.

"That's a very serious accusation," Wolfe said, his brow furrowed. He waved a hand and suddenly the studio was filled with cops. Three of them, led by a woman.

"You say that the game is fixed?" she asked and her voice had the slightest trace of an accent.

"Yes!" he nodded frantically. "I've been working with Lieutenant Garrett – "

" – cheating," the woman cut in.

"No," he protested.

"Then you won't mind us searching you, will you?" she said.

Of course he wouldn't. He had nothing to hide. "Go ahead," he said, and one of the cops patted him down.

And pulled a piece of paper out of his inside jacket pocket.

"All the questions from the game show tonight," the woman announced.

The audience booed with one voice.

That couldn't...that really couldn't... "That's not mine!" he yelled. He'd left that at home.

"We'll check it for fingerprints," the woman told him calmly.

"No, you have to believe me, I've been working with Lieutenant Garrett."

"I've called it in, Ms. Lahiri," another cop said, stepping forward respectfully. "There is no Lieutenant Garrett anywhere we can find."

"There is," he insisted. "I've been to his office. He told me about this show. He said it was all a fix, a criminal mastermind, a legend among criminals ...it's him!" He screamed. "He's Danny Ocean."

He pointed his finger straight at Richard Wolfe.

* * *

Rusty blinked. "I am _not,"_ he said truthfully.

* * *

Somehow, Spencer found that there were handcuffs being placed on him, that someone was reading him his rights and the cameras were still rolling and no one was taking him seriously. "He's stealing all these people's money!" he howled.

"It's not our money," Rebecca said, frowning at him, puzzled. "Didn't you read the release? We just say it's our money and we get whatever we won before we got put out."

That hadn't been on the release he signed. She was lying. She had to be lying. "You bitch!" he snarled. "You're in on it."

The handcuffs were pulled a little more firmly.

"No, it's all him, Danny Ocean, you have to arrest him!" he insisted.

The woman cop stepped forwards, her phone in her hand. "Apparently Ocean's real," she said, looking at Richard Wolfe. "But he's dark haired, a lot older than this man and not nearly so good looking."

* * *

Danny stared at the screen blankly. _What_?

Reuben and Livingston couldn't stop laughing.

* * *

"Also he's apparently in Venezuela," she added, turning to Spencer. "This is just some story to get you out of trouble, right?"

No. No, it wasn't possible. None of this was possible. He was dreaming, he had to be.

"I didn't...I didn't _do _anything," he protested weakly.

The cop didn't have any pity in her eyes. "Yes you did." She looked at the cops standing behind him. "Take him away."

No. No, this was supposed to be _his _day. This was supposed to be the day everything got better for him. He wasn't supposed to be arrested.

He hadn't done anything wrong.

* * *

"And that's everything," Livingston said, happily. "I've got the pictures, I've obscured Rusty and Isabel's faces, I've changed the sound on your name and the whole show will be all over the internet in an hour."

"And people will watch it?" Danny asked, because that was the part that he still wasn't sure of.

"Yeah," Livingston told him. "I've dropped hints of it in all the big social networking sites. These things get passed along like wildfire."

"And no one will recognise Rusty," Danny persisted, because that was what was _really _important.

"Of course not," Livingston said, smiling. "I was extra careful." He stood up and something fell out of his jacket. "What's that?" He picked up the Klondike bar. Wrapped in a post-it note and Rusty had scrawled _'Thanks'_ on it. He smiled a little more.

* * *

It was later and they'd managed to disperse the audience, dismiss the contestants with the money they'd promised and Spencer had been taken away by the police.

"Nothing's going to stick," Isabel said looking at Frank apologetically.

He shrugged. "We've got the tape," he said. He'd burned it as soon as Linus had handed it over. "And the footage of him being arrested for cheating is all over the internet." He smiled at her. "Thanks."

She leaned forwards and kissed him on the cheek. "Anytime."

"Why don't I get any of that?" Rusty asked, walking into the room, devoid of hair extensions and earrings.

Isabel smiled at him sweetly. "You want to kiss Frank, be my guest."

Rusty shrugged and leaned in towards Frank.

"Hey!" Frank said, holding up a hand warningly. "I'm grateful but not that grateful."

"I'm not that much older than him, by the way," Danny said firmly.

Turk frowned doubtfully. "Really?"

"You do say that a lot," Virgil added.

Danny was saved from having to answer by Linus walking into the room, still with the scar on his cheek. "You keeping that?" Danny asked him.

Linus trailed a finger over it. "I kind of like it. Don't you think it makes me look rugged?"

The twins glanced at each other and pounced on his as one. A second later and there was a ripping noise and Linus yelped, and then Turk was holding up a long, fleshy piece of plastic.

"That is disgusting," Saul said with feeling.

"Am I really the most legendary conman in the world?" Danny asked with a grin.

Linus shrugged. "Technically speaking, I might have been talking about Rusty."

Rusty looked up from his phone with a smile. "Huh."

"What?" Danny asked.

"Charlie's just been talking to his producers. Apparently they're willing to buy the format for Wild Cards for five hundred thousand dollars."

There was silence. "Well, _that _was unexpected," Danny said at last.

"Who knew?" Rusty said, shaking his head. "You've found a legitimate talent."

Danny grinned and looked round the room, his eyes lingering on Frank. "I like the ones I've got. Who wants a drink?"

There was a general movement towards the bar and the celebrations were soon in full swing.

"Thank you," Frank said in a low voice, leaning in towards Danny and Rusty. "I mean it."

Rusty smiled and Danny shook his head.

It was just what they did.


End file.
